


This Beating Heart at Bay

by Anonymous



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Adultery, Anal Sex, Cheating, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobia (mentioned), M/M, Rough Sex, non consensual outing (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 13:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14021706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “You and Eric are two completely different people.” The words come out harsh and practiced. It’s a sentiment Jack has informed Kent of several times throughout the years. It’s not really an answer to his question but Jack doesn’t really answer to anyone.





	This Beating Heart at Bay

The golden chain around Jack’s neck glimmers in the dim light of the bar and Kent knows what it means. It means that as much as media says Jack Zimmermann has only one thing on his mind – hockey – reality is different. He’s got a baker at home with a ring on his finger made of the same gold as Jack’s chain.

But Jack’s laughing and even drinking a beer and that’s familiar. The way he shoves Tater’s shoulder and sits oh-so-consciously away from his teammates is so very heterosexual. It’s a little sad and a lot brave and everything Kent wishes he could have back.

“You gotta get out of this shit town.” Snowy is telling him. “What has Vegas ever done for you?”

“Am surprised you not jumped.” Tater adds. “But you look good in Falconer blue.”

Kent just shrugs. “It’s not like I went near the rink. But even if I did, I don’t think anyone would have noticed me. They don’t care about me anymore.”

“Then get out of here!” Snowy insists. “You know my cousin’s gay. What’s your type anyway? The paps never got a good shot of that guy.”

Kent rolls his eyes. There’s no way he’s going for Snowy’s Mass-Hole cousin, New Englanders were awful even when you ignored the accent.

“Leave Kenny alone.” Jack says. “He can take care of himself.”

Which is a lie. But Kent appreciates it anyway.

He leans back, arms propped behind his head. “After all I did fall from grace and into obscurity with the alacrity and panache of a child actor who didn’t have a singing career.”

Jack is consumed with giggles. Tater looks confused. Snowy punches him in the side.

“You were photographed with some guy’s dick down your throat and you crashed the All-Star week trying to give drunk power point presentations about homophobia. The only reason people left you alone was because your sister hacked into your bank account and paid them off.”

“Hey, Jack’s Dad paid them too.” Kent grins. It’s been nearly a decade. If he ever really cared, he sure as hell doesn’t care anymore. He’d had the good sense to buy his loft instead of renting it; to get a degree in accounting online; to find hobbies and friends outside of hockey. His momma raised him well: so long as he has a roof over his head, he can get through anything. His cat sets a good example for him too: fuck up everything around you but be sure to land on your feet.

Tater yawns. “Aces play shit without you, Parse, but am still tired. I head back to hotel.”

Snowy’s been making eyes at some girl at the other end of the bar all evening. He shakes his head and makes his way over to her. “You boys go ahead. Catch you on the plane tomorrow.”

Jack fixes his stunning blue eyes on Kent. “So…”

Kent bites his tongue and pretends, just for a second, that he’ll do what’s right instead of what feels good.

“You’re not worried about someone noticing?” Kent won’t look at him, just stirs his martini.

“I asked for a room on a different floor than everyone else and they chalked it up to my anxiety.”

Kent rolls his eyes and doesn’t say what he wants to which is  _you’re a manipulative tool, Jack Zimmermann._ Instead he says: “I wish you could just come to mine. It’s shit that you’re allergic to cats.”

Jack laughs. “Yeah, it’s why we were never meant to be.”

The scars on Kent’s heart scream as they’re pulled and stretched almost to the point that they’re ripped open. Jack must see it reflected on his face because he brings out his phone.

Kent’s phone chirps with a text notification.

_Zimms: Don’t look like that Kenny_

_Zimms: And don’t pretend that you didn’t think about me in the shower this morning_

_Zimms: I know you prepped for me_

Kent closes his eyes, breathes deep, counts to three and leaves out the back exit.

Jack catches up with him halfway down the poorly lit alley. Kent recognizes the sound of his footsteps and the pattern of his breathing. He doesn’t scream when Jack grabs his arm and pushes him against the wall of some building.

“I’m sorry, Kenny.” Jack says.

“I don’t care.” Kent bites back. “You think you can just- just waltz in and out of my life as you please? I’m not some- some-”

But there’s nothing Kent can really say because  _is_ “some-…” and Jack  _can_ waltz in and out of his life as he pleases. It’s been this way since they were fifteen and it’s not going to change anytime soon.

Jack kisses him slowly, chastely, softly. “Do you want me?”

“Yes.” Kent breathes.

Getting to Jack’s hotel room is a blur. It’s all stolen touches and meaningful glances and whispered promises; hiding from onlookers, hiding from the uber driver, hiding from the Beyoncé ringtone on Jack’s phone. It’s so very seventeen and he wonders what he’s clinging to most, the feeling of being young? Or the feeling of being loved?

Jack’s phone rings for a third time as they cross the threshold into Jack’s room.

“Will you turn that off?”

Jack shakes his head and shoves it into the bottom of his duffel bag. “He worries if it’s switched off.”

Kent considers leaving because it’s all bullshit anyway and nostalgia is a liar and his therapist has been trying to convince him that he deserves nice things.

Jack puts his hands on Kent’s hips and pulls him flush against him. He smiles beatifically and kisses him lightly.

“Hi.” He whispers.

“I missed you.” Kent replies.

“I know.”

Jack kisses him again but there’s nothing chaste about it this time. He licks into Kent’s mouth and grinds against his hips, stealing Kent’s breath.

This is “nice things.” This is what Kent deserves. This is what Kent chooses to give himself.

Jack picks him up and tosses him on the huge bed. Kent giggles as he bounces and poses like Kate Winslet from Titanic.

“Want me to leave this on?” He asks, referring to his Jack Zimmermann Falconers jersey.

“I don’t care.” Jack says but Kent can see in his eyes that he’d like it if Kent did leave it on.

Kent takes it off and throws it across the room. Occasionally, Kent won't give Jack what he wants; it makes him feel powerful.

Jack joins him on the bed, pins him down with his hips and slowly rolls their hips together. Kent tugs on his hair and fits their mouths together. Jack makes quick work of Kent’s pants and his own clothing. He slaps Kent’s thigh a little harder than Kent would like and bites his ear which makes Kent melt into the mattress.

“Come on, on your stomach.” He whispers raggedly.

“Nah, I wanna do it face to face.” Kent tells him.

Jack readjusts himself and pulls Kent’s legs apart roughly. “Then spread your legs already.”

“Christ you’re eager.” Kent smirks. “When was the last time you topped? Eric must have you cock whipped.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Jack shoves three fingers into Kent’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue and reaching back towards his throat.

Kent sucks on Jack’s fingers easily, grinding his teeth gently around Jack’s knuckles. It’s hard to breathe with Jack’s thick fingers in the way, he can feel drool trickle down his chin and throat and he drops his head back against the mattress with a groan and a gasp.

Jack starts to pull his fingers away but Kent greedily sucks harder on them until Jack relents. He gives Kent two fingers and doesn’t even come close to touching the back of Kent’s throat, but Kent will take anything Jack gives him.

Jack is kissing the inside of Kent’s thighs, sucking hard enough to leave marks and soothing the hurt with slow, messy licks. He’s slowly working his way upwards, closer to Kent’s straining dick and he doesn’t tease. He knows Kent will get mean if he does. Jack licks tenderly at the head of Kent’s dick once and then pulls away. He leans off the bed to reach into his suitcase.

“Jack!” Kent shouts, kicking at his thigh insistently.

But Jack returns his attention to Kent quickly, lube and condom in hand. He takes Kent’s dick into his mouth, refusing to move, acting like he’s just Kent’s cock warmer. Kent’s about to complain again when Jack presses a lubed finger against his ass. Kent closes his eyes and lets himself relax, lets Jack inside of him with a loud moan.

Okay, maybe he’s exaggerating a bit, but Jack runs on positive feedback and Kent really wants to get dicked down so he’s going to throw a little extra effort behind his moans.

Jack pulls off his dick with a breathy moan of his own, pressing a second finger inside Kent. “Fuck, Kenny, you’re so open for me. When was the last time you opened yourself, huh? Tell me. Tell me you were thinking about me while you sat on that blue dildo.”

Kent knows exactly what Jack’s asking for but Jack gets what he wants too often.

“Last time I opened myself up?” He pants, Jack’s scissoring his fingers now and the burn is so sweet. “I think it was three days ago. I found this total bear on Grindr. He had hair all over and he fucked me in his office up against the window. He was so sexy, he had this beard and- ow! What the fuck?!”

Kent props himself up on his elbows as sees a perfect, almost circular, bite mark on his left inner thigh. It’s red and glistening with spit and Jack is glaring darkly at him.

“Don’t lie to me, Kenny.” He presses his fingers in at the perfect angle, brushing against his prostate.

“God!” Kent shouts. When Jack eases off his prostate he laughs shakily. “You’re such an ass. I fingered myself in the bathroom of the bar just before you and Tater and Snow showed up. Okay? Happy?”

Jack shrugs like it’s no big deal. He adds a third finger and, too quickly, a fourth. Kent hisses at the intrusion and Jack slows. He pets Kent’s trembling thighs and strokes his stomach. His fingers are still damp from when Kent was sucking on them and when he teasingly circles Kent’s nipple, a shudder runs down Kent’s back.

Jack grins and bends down to capture Kent’s mouth in a slow and heated kiss. Kent moans into his mouth, lost in the feeling of Jack’s tongue and his fingers slowly pushing in and out of him. Jack pulls away, breathing hard and brushes his nose against Kent’s.

“Next time you talk about someone else while you’re in bed with me.” Jack warns. “I’ll leave.”

“Does your baker know you’re this possessive?”

“Do you  _want_ to get spanked?”

Kent rolls his eyes. “Not tonight. Just fuck me.”

Jack rolls a condom on one handed. He lines his cock up to Kent’s opening, brushing the rim even as Jack’s fingers continue to stretch him open.

Kent drops fully onto his back and lets out a long whine.

Jack grins and gently pulls his fingers away, only to quickly replace them with his cock. He lifts Kent’s legs over his shoulders and buries himself in Kent’s ass.

Jack fucks him hard and fast, the rhythm of his thrusts unforgiving. Kent closes his eyes and opens his mouth and just lets himself float in the pool of overstimulation and not enough and loving and lusting and wanting. Jack nearly bends him in half, sliding his hands under his back and lifting him up off the mattress. Kent digs his fingers into Jack’s arms, feels the slickness of his sweaty skin and the hardness of his straining muscles. He kisses every part of Jack that he can reach, desperate for every sensation, every pant, every half-spoken word to sear in his memory indelibly.

Kent shouts Jack’s name as he comes just because he can. Jack fucks him through his orgasm then pulls out, pulls off the condom and strokes himself quickly until he comes on Kent’s stomach, their semen mixing on his skin.

“Nasty.” Kent breathes, drunk off endorphins and smiling lazily.

“You love it.” Jack replies, kissing him softly.

Kent hums against Jack’s mouth because it’s true. “Get me a washcloth, I cannot move.”

Jack goes to the bathroom, muttering as he wets a washcloth in the sink. He cleans Kent up gently, carefully when he comes back. He peppers kisses along Kent’s hipbones, across his ribcage and up his throat. Kent just smiles down at him, running his hands through Jack’s sweaty mop of hair and memorizing the lines of his face.

“Will you hand me my pants?” He asks when Jack is done.

“You’re not leaving already?” Jack sounds disappointed.

Kent preens and pulls his lighter and pack of cigarettes from his back pocket.

“You can’t smoke.” Jack sounds incredulous.

“I’m not a professional athlete anymore. I can do whatever the fuck I want to my body.”

Jack giggles. “No, I mean, you can’t smoke  _here._ What kind of shitty hotels have you been hooking up in?”

Kent sighs and tosses the items on the floor. “We should fuck in a home next time.”

Jack snuggles up to him, resting his head on Kent’s thigh next to his flaccid dick. It’s weird and perfect and a testament to how long they’ve been doing this that there’s no shame between each other’s bodies. Kent revels in the knowledge that his muscles will ache for days and the marks on his body will last even longer.

“Maybe if you come to Providence.” Jack breaks the silence.

“I hardly think your wife would like that.”

“You gotta get out of Vegas, Kenny.”

Kent groans. “Not you too! I thought you said I could take care of myself.”

“You’re not happy here. You never were.”

“And I’ll be happy somewhere else?” Kent is cynical.

“You might have a chance at it.” Jack sounds sincere.

Kent rearranges them so he’s lying on his side, face to face with Jack. He kisses him hard, biting at his bottom lip and holding his cheeks firmly in his hands. He doesn’t let go until Jack bites him back with a low growl.

“Who says I want to be happy, Zimms?”

“You’re such a fucking martyr, Kenny.” Jack sneers, resting on his back and staring up at the ceiling. “The world is shit, okay? Life is shit. And most people are shit. But that doesn’t mean you don’t try and squeeze as much happiness out of everything as you possibly can.”

“Oh yeah? Is that what you’re doing to me? To Eric? Squeezing as much happiness out of us as you can?”

“You and Eric are two completely different people.” The words come out harsh and practiced. It’s a sentiment Jack has informed Kent of several times throughout the years. It’s not really an answer to his question but Jack doesn’t really answer to anyone.

“I just… I’m used to being lonely in Vegas.” Kent admits. “I know how to do it. I can’t stand the thought of trying somewhere else and failing and having to learn how to be alone all over again.”

Jack makes a sympathetic noise. He rolls over and tugs Kent close to him with one arm, nosing along his hairline and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“I promise I’ll visit you. Even if you don’t move to a hockey town, I’ll be there for you.”

“I know.” Kent tells him softly.

He doesn’t know how to articulate that Jack just makes him feel more lonely but that he’d give anything for another minute of “alone with Jack.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes, this was posted on tumblr first. yes, i'm the original creator.


End file.
